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Liberty + Justice

Miquel Aparicio and Carlos Borja aren't just cross-country coaches. After immigrating to the States, they created a program out of thin air at one of the toughest high schools in Phoenix. They have lived out the American Dream. Or so it seemed.

So what would Aparicio say to the Alhambra boys if he saw them the next day in Phoenix? He'd have to tell them that he had signed a piece of paper that granted him freedom but denied him a chance, however slim, to tell his story. Wasn't it their story, too? Then Aparicio would have to report that he'd surrendered without a struggle; that he had declined to even try to make a case that the United States of America was his rightful home.

Aparicio declined the offer of voluntary return. He wasn't ready to give up. The guard led him back to lockup.

In August 1988, Faridodin "Fredi" Lajvardi, a 23-year-old native of Iran and a recent graduate of Arizona State University, began teaching science and coaching cross-country and track at Carl Hayden Community High School in Phoenix. Hayden was at least 90 percent Hispanic; Lajvardi estimates that 40 to 80 percent of the students were undocumented (the school district did not track the statistic). There was no doubt that Hayden sat in one of the poorest, roughest neighborhoods of Phoenix. After his first day as a coach, Lajvardi walked out to his car to find the windows smashed and his wallet stolen.

The young teacher was undaunted. A three-time Boston Marathon qualifier with a 2:48 PR, Lajvardi was especially excited to coach. He knew he needed a student to lead his fledgling program, an athlete who'd be willing to put in the work and demand the best from himself and his teammates. Lajvardi recruited a freshman on the football team, a scowling, barrel-chested boy named Carlos Borja. "The first thing you noticed about Carlos was his toughness," Lajvardi says. "The other boys respected him, and were also a little afraid of him. But as you got to know Carlos, you realized that the aggressive demeanor was a facade, a way to mask his intelligence and compassion. The way Carlos had come up, he couldn't let himself appear vulnerable."

Borja, whose mother had died when he was 4, started working in the sugarcane fields of his native state of Colima in western Mexico at age 6. The work followed a changeless rhythm. "Burn the fields, cut the cane, stack it into piles four feet high," Borja recalls. "I got paid five pesos a pile." He attended school on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings.

When he was 10, one of his older brothers, who'd been working in Arizona with his father, returned to bring Carlos and his sisters to the United States. His brother hired a coyote for $100. The children scrambled under the fence in Nogales and traveled on to Phoenix. Borja was sent to live with his brother, who worked for a tree-service company. Adjusting to his new home proved difficult. One brother dropped out of high school. A sister got pregnant twice in high school and had two babies. A similar fate seemed to await Carlos Borja, but then he discovered sports.

He loved being active; he loved competing; he loved to win. He excelled in football, basketball, and soccer, but gave them all up when Lajvardi introduced him to distance running. "What hooked me on running was the chance it gave you to win," Borja says. "It was a team sport, but at the same time, it was up to the individual. You could train and compete as hard as you wanted. There was nobody holding you back but yourself."

Borja emerged as Hayden's top runner, and the team quickly responded to Lajvardi's system, which combined demanding training with a close family atmosphere. The coach hosted team dinners at his home. He talked about college, paid for shoes and insurance, and got to know the runners' parents. Within two years, Hayden's cross-country team had qualified for the Arizona state championship. "We'd hold team meetings, and I'd ask each boy, 'Why are you here?'" Lajvardi says. "We would analyze motivation and strategy. We used to have some amazing discussions, and Carlos always had the deepest insights. A possible future teacher and coach was taking shape right in front of my eyes."